She was young, inexperienced, an idealist and he found great delight in her. She was docile, eager to please him, but he felt that he did not really know her. He wondered how much Burgundy had had to persuade her to the match. Would he have bothered? Oh yes, indeed, Burgundy saw the marriage as a way of flouting Charles VII and at the moment his bitterness against the murderer of his father was uppermost in his mind.
But John had other matters to occupy him as well as his marriage. A soldier could not give too much thought to his personal affairs except when they were closely connected with his duties. This marriage of course was a very important part of them. But now it was accomplished. He must always try to emulate Henry. Henry had been delighted with Katherine, but he would never have sought the marriage if she had not been the daughter of the King of France.
Messengers were constantly arriving at Les Tournelles. He was eager to know how his forces were faring at D’Orsay for that town had been in a state of siege for more than six weeks and the stubbornness of the townsfolk was an irritation to him for it meant expending so many men and so much ammunition to enforce the siege.
It was time D’Orsay collapsed; it must before long, he assured himself, and then he thought of the siege of Rouen which had caused his brother such anxieties. But it had been successful at last and had indeed been a decisive factor in Henry’s victory. D’Orsay was hardly as important as that but at the same time he was anxiously waiting for news of that beleaguered town.
It was while he was thinking of this matter that news came of the surrender of D’Orsay.
Anne was with him. He smiled at her. ‘At last,’ he cried. ‘Who would have thought such a place could hold out so long.’
She smiled at him sadly. He remembered that smile later. It was not always easy to remember that these people who were holding out against him were her countrymen.
He stood at the window watching the bareheaded prisoners being brought into Paris. These were the men who had made the siege of D’Orsay such a costly matter.
Anne was beside him.
‘You look sad,’ he said.
‘I was thinking of those men. Where are they being taken?’
‘To the Châtelet,’ he told her.
‘Prisoners,’ she said.
‘What would you expect them to be, dear lady? They have killed my soldiers; they have fought against me.’
‘In defence of their town,’ she replied.
He sighed. ‘It was foolish of them. Had they surrendered six weeks before they would have saved us and themselves much suffering. They must pay for their folly.’
He turned abruptly and left her.
When he was asked to pass sentence on the prisoners he said it should be death. The citizens of France must learn that it did not pay to hold out against the Regent and severe penalties must await those who did; it was the only way to deter others.
There was gloom in the city of Paris. The people did not like these public executions. They hated to see their own countrymen led out to be slaughtered. For what reason? Because they had defied the usurpers!
On the morning of the day fixed for their execution, the streets were deserted. That was better, thought John, than having them crowded round the place of execution. It was a good sign. Sullen they might be but they were resigned.
He was sure that he was doing the right thing.
Anne came to him as he sat at his table in the antechamber. He rose and bowed. ‘You wished to speak with me?’ he asked.
‘Yes. It is about the prisoners.’
‘They are to be executed today.’
‘John, please do not do it.’
He softened. ‘It has to be,’ he explained gently. ‘They are an example, you must understand. I cannot endure many more of these pointless sieges. They drain our resources too much. They take too much time. I cannot have great bodies of men concentrated round one town because the people are so stubborn and will not give in.’
‘Please understand that they are only defending their homes.’
‘They would have defended them better by surrendering to my men. What good have they done? They have starved the citizens of their town; they will leave their wives without husbands and their children without fathers.’
She turned passionately towards him. ‘My lord … pardon them.’
‘Pardon them! You do not mean that surely?’
‘I do,’ she said. ‘I ask you. Pardon them.’
‘My dear lady, do you understand what this means? To pardon them would be to advise others to do the same. They would say I was weak …’
‘They might say you were strong.’
He laughed. ‘Never.’
She said: ‘I should think it showed strength. To kill them shows that you fear that others will do likewise.’
She bent her head to hide the tears in her eyes and he was overcome by a sudden tenderness.
‘You do not understand these matters,’ he said gently. ‘My dear lady wife, you must allow me to decide. You are too gentle, too good. You do not understand the perils of war.’
‘I understand too well,’ she replied. ‘There has always been war … War between my house and the Armagnacs … War between France and England. Everyone in this poor war-torn land knows war, my lord.’
‘Sweet lady, you must leave these cruel matters to men.’
‘War has always been a man’s game, has it not? A game … yes that is it. It is a game. You play with living men as you would play with toy soldiers. You forget that they are not wooden soldiers … they are living flesh and blood.’
He tried to take her hand but she withdrew it and sharply turning ran from the room.
He stared after her. He was upset by the encounter. She saw him as cruel, indifferent to suffering. She saw him as a monster crazy for power. It was not so. He had been brought up to fight. It was part of a boy’s education. If he did not excel in the jousts he was considered to be a weakling and was despised by those about him. Anne did not understand.
An hour passed. He was still thinking of her. She had seemed more beautiful in tears than she had in her magnificent wedding gown.
What had she said? It showed weakness. It was nonsense. The men had to die. It would be folly to allow the people to think that they could flout his army and be forgiven like naughty schoolboys.
He must forget Anne’s outburst. She was hysterical; she was illogical; she brought a woman’s reason to that which was a matter for men.
He sat staring before him. He went to the window and looked out on the empty streets. Then he called to one of the guards.
Anne stood before him. Her eyes were shining and he saw that her cheeks were wet.
She was smiling at him. She said: ‘You did it then. You stopped the order.’
‘You spoke for them so earnestly.’
‘But you said …’
He went to her and took her hands in his. He kissed them.
She said, ‘Thank you.’
Then he put his arms about her and held her close to him.
He was rejoicing in his marriage – not friendship with Burgundy, not the promise of Artois, nor all those golden crowns … but simply because he loved her.
Chapter V
THE DUKE’S MISTRESS
HUMPHREY, Duke of Gloucester was in his element. He thrived on intrigue. His marriage to Jacqueline had focused attention on him and there was nothing he enjoyed more than being at the heart of a controversy.
‘Ha,’ he said to Jacqueline, ‘this has made my brother realise that there are other members of the family besides his important self. It has pricked the pride of proud Burgundy. Imagine the consternation in the camps of these two worthy gentlemen, sweet wife.’